


lost without you

by WriterInWonderland



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Inspired by Music, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, You might cry, but the good sort of pain because they're so in love, this is going to hurt, this is the most tragic thing i've written, thomas is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28872999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterInWonderland/pseuds/WriterInWonderland
Summary: “I love you too,” he whispers. “Always.”“And forever.”“And for all eternity.”It was supposed to be them against the world.But it was more like the world was against them.or; Thomas loved Newt too much to stop him leaving, and he loved him too much to tell him how much it hurt.
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 51





	lost without you

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this planned in my drafts for a while, and finally ended up writing in the span of a few days, even though i'm supposed to be working on other things. i just couldn't get this idea out of my head. it was nice to have a break from other projects, but i'll be working hard on the new chapter fic from now on so i can hopefully bring it to you next month (it's long, i'm warning you now.)
> 
> tw: panic attacks and themes of depression.
> 
> i should probably mention that every other scene is a flashback, just so you're not confused when you start reading :)
> 
> finally, this is based on the song [lost without you](https://open.spotify.com/track/7DG4Gw3lsiuUri2IhAzikx) by Freya Ridings.  
> i highly suggest you listen to it while reading for the full crying experience.

Everything turns gray the moment Newt’s warm hand slips out of his.

It’s vivid, the way the colour drains from the world and is replaced by a dull nothingness that comes with saying goodbye to the person you love. It’s indefinite, but Thomas isn’t sure how long he’ll last in a black and white world, without the person who taught him how to see in colour. Without the person who makes every day worth living.

He can only watch, helpless, as Newt slowly steps away from him, their eyes locked in a heavy embrace full of sadness and guilt. It takes everything in him not to lunge forward and stop him from getting on that train; riding away into the distance and leaving him here all alone, with only his own perilous thoughts for company. 

But Thomas can’t be selfish.

He loves Newt too much to ever hold him back from following his dreams. So, to fulfil the promise he made to himself, he knows what he has to do, even though it’s going to break him. But Newt doesn’t need to know that—he doesn’t need to know how much this hurts.

So he watches, crestfallen, as his love turns away.

His fingertips buzz from where Newt’s hand left his, the ghost of his touch lingering and tangible, and Thomas longs to hold on to that sensation for as long as he can. Who knows when he’ll next be able to feel the warmth of his skin against his own.

When a whistle blows, somewhere nearby, people brush past him, but he never tears his eyes away from Newt’s retreating back. He couldn’t if he tried.

Among the crowds swarming around the doors of the train, his eyes follow the flash of blond hair which shines golden in the morning sun. Newt is radiant—he always has been—and now, in the black and white world of his own making, he’s the only colour Thomas can see. There are only seconds left, mere moments, until everything he’s ever loved is torn away from him. He’s letting him go, but every shattered piece of his heart is screaming _no._

Everything fades, muted, into the background when Newt raises a hand, eyes locked on his for the few seconds they have left. It’s one final goodbye, among the many they’ve had before this moment, but this feels like an end. It _is_ an end. Thomas is going to make it that way, because Newt doesn’t need the burden of his broken heart from all the way across the world. 

His fingers twitch in his pocket, but he doesn’t wave back.

It’s easier this way. At least, that’s what Thomas tells himself.

The final whistle blows, and his eyes fall closed as the train doors slam shut behind Newt. And, as all his hope and happiness rides off into the sun, he lets the first tear fall.

-

_You said, “I want to see the world.”_

_And I said, “Go.”_

-

The sunlight streaming through the curtains is what wakes Thomas up that morning, bathing the room in a soft, yellow glow. It’s clearly not enough to wake Newt, who’s still curled up against him, soft little breaths coming in even bursts which are warm against Thomas’s neck. Call him creepy, but he could spend hours just gazing and admiring how at peace and completely beautiful his boyfriend looks, without the strain of the world to burden him. He’s been caught, many times in the past, and been laughed at (in a lighthearted manner, because Newt isn’t mean) before being attacked with kisses all over his “stupid face”. Those moments are some of his favourites.

Now, he reluctantly rolls out of the cocoon of warmth to make himself a cup of coffee, because he has work this morning and should probably be getting up soon, as the clock on the wall impolitely reminds him. Just as he’s about to open their bedroom door, the bed sheets rustle and he turns to see Newt squinting at him through the fogginess of sleep, a lot more conscious than he had been mere moments ago.

“Come back,” he mumbles, voice rough. “I miss you.”

Thomas smiles, mostly to himself, because everyday he wakes up and falls impossibly more in love with this beautiful boy, and this morning is no different. He steps across to Newt’s side of the bed and leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, knuckles gently caressing the side of his face as he does.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he promises. “You go back to sleep.”

Newt hums noncommittally, and Thomas tears his eyes away from him so he can make his way into the kitchen. He stifles a yawn as he pads towards the counter, bare feet against the cold floor, and subconsciously begins to brew his coffee along with a mug of chamomile tea for Newt. It’s become a routine of sorts, and Thomas doesn’t think he’s ever been happier with his life than he is right now. 

It’s addictive, being in love and being loved in return. 

Sometimes Thomas wonders, just fleetingly, what it would feel like if all this was torn away from him, but that thought is too soul crushing to bear. He trusts Newt; he trusts their love. But there’s always the sneaking thought that maybe he loves too much, too intensely—a flame burning too brightly. 

He’s standing, waiting for the coffee to pour from the machine, when a warm pair of arms wrap around him from behind, and all his insecurities shatter into nothing. Newt buries his face in the crook of Thomas’s neck and mumbles out a soft “hello”, his body warm where he’s bundled up in his favourite hoodie.

“Why are you not in bed?” he asks, allowing his head to loll slightly to the side to rest gently on top of Newt’s.

“Bed isn’t exciting without you in it,” Newt murmurs before adding, “and I wanted a kiss.”

Thomas laughs and turns around in Newt’s embrace, facing him with the sappiest of smiles. “Well you just had to ask.”

“I’m _asking,_ Tommy.”

He wastes no more time in leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips, unsurprised when Newt grabs at the front of his shirt to hold him in place. It’s as if he knew, somehow, that Thomas needed the reminder that his love is requited; something that can never and will never be snuffed out. There may be struggles in the future, but they’ll get through it because they’ll be doing it together. 

After all, it’s always been them against the world. 

And Thomas can’t imagine it any other way.

-

The bedroom door pushes open with a creak as he stumbles through, pulling on the hoodie that Newt left behind—the one that still smells like him. Sometimes, when Thomas closes his eyes and inhales, he can almost imagine that he’s still here. All he wants is a hug, and for Newt to run his fingers through his hair and tell him that everything’s going to be okay. He longs for the comfort he can no longer have.

But there’s no comfort without Newt.

He makes his way to the dimly lit kitchen, in search of some food or some coffee, and sighs when he realises just how messy he’s let it get. Old plates and bowls are stacked up on the counter, with unwashed coffee mugs left in the sink, days old. He can’t even remember the last time he went shopping, so there probably isn’t any food left in the cupboards aside from the odd tin of baked beans or tomatoes. 

Newt was always the one to eat the beans. Thomas can’t stand them.

He stubs his toe on the bottle of detergent as he steps up to the dirty counter, left as a reminder to wash his clothes so he can wear something clean, for once. Needless to say, he hasn’t got around to it yet. It’s not like he wears much other than Newt’s hoodie, and he’s not planning on washing that any time soon.

Maybe when, _if_ , Newt comes back.

“There’s got to be something edible,” he mumbles to himself as he roots through old boxes he couldn’t be bothered to take out of the cupboard, but stops in his tracks the moment he uncovers one particular box that he knows all too well.

Something compels him to reach inside, even though it should long since be empty, and his fingers clasp around one last teabag from Newt’s stash, removing it with trembling hands. It’s chamomile, the kind he always asked Thomas to make him in the mornings or after a long day—he would drink it at the kitchen table and sigh in relief the moment he took a sip. The distinctive scent of it became so familiar in the apartment that it began to smell like home.

He hasn’t smelt it since Newt left. 

Somewhere in the mess on the counter, he finds the kettle and waits impatiently for it to boil before pouring it over the teabag in a freshly rinsed mug. The second it begins to brew, Thomas is hit by the overwhelming smell and he almost breaks down in tears.

So many memories flash before his eyes as he stands there, in the dirty apartment that used to be _theirs_ instead of _his,_ and had once been crawling with love and laughter. A sensation he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Him and Newt waking up together every morning. Him and Newt studying together in the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom. Him and Newt watching TV together beneath a warm blanket on the sofa. 

All these memories, basked in the smell of chamomile tea.

Thomas moves to sit at the kitchen table, having to move a whole pile of papers in order to make room. He has so much unopened mail; bank statements or gas bills or anything else he hasn’t found the motivation to deal with. 

But some of which are letters. Letters from Newt.

When Thomas didn’t reply to his many calls or texts, Newt began sending him mail. It took just two weeks for the first letter to arrive, and they’ve been coming every other day since then.

At first, Thomas opened them all. He read the words written in Newt’s beautiful handwriting and cried, because the love of his life didn’t understand why he wasn’t replying to him anymore; why he wouldn’t answer the phone, despite their promise to call.

He thought it would hurt less to cut it off completely, but now he’s not so sure.

As he sets the tea down beside him, Thomas reaches for the most recent letter which came only yesterday, tearing open the envelope with shaky hands and emptying the contents out onto the table in front of him.

What he sees is enough to shatter his already broken heart.

A single photograph of him and Newt the summer they got together. The summer he relives in his mind every single day without fail. The summer he realised how helplessly in love he was with this boy. How helplessly in love he always would be.

And with it, a note. Written in perfect, neat lettering.

_I hope you know that I love you._

_No matter what._

_N x_

It takes a matter of seconds for Thomas to break down, over his mug of chamomile tea and the photograph of a better time in his life; a happier one, where no trace of this pain ever existed. He would give so much to go back in time and appreciate every second of what he used to have in front of him. Because now he doesn’t have it, and he longs for just a single taste of that happiness.

He’s drowning, entirely and absolutely, because his only source of oxygen is halfway around the world, and Thomas let him leave.

He just misses Newt. So much that it hurts.

-

_I’ve been strong for so long._

_I never thought how much I needed you._

-

Thomas stumbles blindly out of his university building, lungs constricting and head spinning as he fumbles to steady himself against the cold brick wall. With the sudden thought that he should probably sit down before he falls down, he allows his body to slide down the wall to the floor, just as the world shifts beneath him.

With his chest increasingly tightening and hot tears beginning to roll down his cheeks, he can’t shake the feeling that he really is about to die. The rational part of his brain tries to convince him that he’s just having a panic attack, but he can barely hear it over the ringing in his ears and the frantic beating of his heart.

“Are you alright, mate?” 

Suddenly, an accented voice breaks through the shrill noise in his head.

Thomas raises a finger and chokes out something like “give me a minute,” but this stranger does not, in fact, give him a minute. Instead, he chooses to perch down beside him and rest a hand tentatively on his knee, seemingly aware of the state of panic Thomas is currently in.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the stranger says, voice soothing and hand surprisingly warm. “You’re safe, alright? Can you try and breathe with me?”

And, as this miracle of a human somehow manages to force oxygen into Thomas’s lungs, the ringing in his ears slowly subsides and his vision clears, his lungs finally working the way they should. It’s strange, the way the accent and presence of this boy alone is enough to send waves of tranquility to his brain, relaxing him in a matter of minutes. Maybe that should have been weird, but Thomas is just grateful.

He finally looks up to meet the concerned eyes of the boy beside him, managing a small smile and a relieved sigh of breath as he murmurs, “thanks.”

“No, that’s okay,” unknown boy says quickly. “Are you feeling better?”

“Loads better.”

Words fail him as he slowly comes to his senses and realises just how _beautiful_ this stranger is, with his blond hair and exquisite hazel eyes, and Thomas knows he’s probably gawking but he can't find it in him to care. It’s magnetic, the way he instantly longs to reach out and touch, as if he has any right at all. He’s never felt anything quite like it for anyone.

When he smiles at him, Thomas swears his heart explodes. 

“Well I hope you don’t mind if I join you out here,” the boy says as he slides his hand off Thomas’s knee, before coming to sit directly beside him and gently covering his hand on the ground with his own.

“Of course not,” Thomas says quickly. “As long as you tell me your name.”

“It’s Newt. What’s yours?”

The intensity of his gaze and the weight of his hand over his is enough to short circuit Thomas’s brain, and he only realises he’s still staring, speechless, when Newt raises his eyebrows expectantly. “Oh, I’m Thomas.”

“Nice to meet you, Tommy,” Newt says with a small nudge of their shoulders. “Despite the circumstances.”

They sit there, on the cold floor of the courtyard, for the entire duration of the class Thomas is currently missing, sharing shy smiles and little pieces of their souls. It could be the start of something so extraordinary, the two of them. When he looks at Newt, he swears he can see tiny glimpses of a future, together, flashing before his eyes.

And, when Newt kisses him goodbye one hour later, he knows.

-

In the darkness behind closed eyelids, Thomas can almost believe that he’s okay. 

The darkness conceals a multitude of sins, but what it doesn’t hide is the raw, intense pain which stabs uncontrollably at his heart like a knife through his chest. 

Maybe a knife would be less painful than this.

He’s breathing, just barely, outside the building of his work’s Christmas party, against the brick wall he ran to in a state of panic. He knows he looks a mess, with his tie half undone and top two buttons ripped open in his desperation for air, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Over time, he’s got better at controlling these panic attacks. But that was with Newt. And Newt isn’t here to help him anymore. 

On instinct, he pulls out his phone with trembling fingers and opens up his messages, thumb hovering over Newt’s name, with hundreds of unread texts. He hasn’t read any of them since he’s been gone; he knew his self restraint would crumble the second he did, and he couldn’t break the promise he made to himself. 

Even though he knows, by now, that he should never have let Newt go.

With that thought pulsating in the back of his mind, he clicks into the messages and begins to type, with raw honesty flowing through his fingertips like a curse bound to break his promise. Because he knows that if he chooses to press send, Newt will do anything in his power to get back by his side as quickly as possible.

Thomas longs to be selfish.

There’s nothing he’s ever wanted more.

So he types, and stares at the words on his screen with so much intensity.

_I think I’m lost without you_

He closes his eyes, thumb hovering over ‘send’.

But he knows what it means, to make those words tangible. He knows what will happen, and he can’t have that; he can’t be the person who stops Newt from doing everything he's ever wanted to do. 

So, with an aching heart, he slowly presses delete. Letter by letter.

And, because the world is against him, he realises that Newt will be able to see that he’s read the messages; that he’s ignoring him, on purpose. But he won’t know why. 

He’ll sit there, wherever he is in the world, staring at his phone with an expression of pure confusion and guilt, wondering why, after all this time, Thomas chose to open their texts. Maybe he’ll be hurt, angry. Maybe he’ll call and text over and over again because there’s a chance, now, that Thomas will see it.

The selfish part of Thomas’s brain hopes it finally brings him home.

-

_My world is crumbling._

_I should never have let you go._

-

With one gloved hand entwined with Newt’s, Thomas brings the other up to rest on the railing of their favourite lookout spot; the one which overlooks the entire city which shines brightly with millions of tiny lights. From up here, everything seems so small and insignificant. The one thing that truly matters to him is right here beside him, anyway. Newt’s the only safe haven he’s ever known.

The first burst of fireworks takes him by surprise, and Newt laughs at him when he jumps in fright. It’s new years eve, yet another that they’re spending together, and coming up here to watch the many displays destined to happen tonight might just be one of the best ideas Thomas has ever had.

Bursts of colour light up the darkness of the sky, painting it with bursts of brilliant light which never fail to send him into a state of awe. With every bang comes an explosion of colour, never the same as before; always taking his breath away. And, with his heart full of so much love and happiness, he turns to look at Newt.

The smile on his boyfriend’s face is brighter than any of those fireworks. He’s a thousand times more beautiful, and Thomas feels like the luckiest man alive.

Even when Newt turns and catches him staring, Thomas doesn’t look away—he’s hypnotised by those curious eyes and radiant smile, entirely under his spell. It’s something so powerful, the deep and all consuming feeling in his heart, overwhelmed with joy and affection.

There’s nothing quite like it. Nothing ever _will_ be quite like it.

“I love you,” he says, for perhaps the billionth time, now unafraid to speak the truth.

But Newt understands him, in a way that nobody has before, and reaches his free hand up to cup Thomas’s cheek. “I love you too,” he whispers. “Always.”

“And forever.”

“And for all eternity.”

The fireworks fade into the background as their lips meet, and Thomas can’t think of a single better way to start a perfect new year, with so much possibility and so much love. 

All the love in the world, always and forever and for all eternity.

-

_I’ve been strong for so long_

_But I never thought how much I loved you._

-

And to think, just one year ago, Thomas had been the happiest he’s ever been. They’d been so hopeful for the future together, and to see where it would lead them. So much potential, so much which could have been. 

So much that never was.

Now, one year on, Thomas knows better than to be so blind. 

As a fresh burst of fireworks explode above him, he only feels numb, like an empty shell of the person he once was. That Thomas is gone; he vanished the moment those train doors closed behind Newt, and he hasn’t been seen since.

Without a hand to hold onto, Thomas leans both arms over the railing at the lookout spot, eyes unfocused and hazy, like they usually are these days. Somewhere in the distance: laughter. Cheering. Happiness. It’s so far off; entirely out of his reach. 

Despite the distant noise, all he hears is a never ending silence.

Until, somewhere behind him, a voice reignites his entire world.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

It comes in a rush, the swarm of relief and guilt that hits him in a tidal wave of pure, intense emotion. A sob escapes his lips, but he’s smiling despite it all. He’s terrified to turn around, in case it’s all in his head, but Thomas would know that voice anywhere. It’s been haunting his dreams ever since he left, narrating every one of his favourite memories, and comforting him from the very start.

He feels him approach the railing, putting an unwelcome space between them, and his tentative gaze is enough to break every barrier Thomas has put up since he left.

A single tear rolls down his cheek as he turns his head, looks at him, and whispers in a broken voice, “Newt?”

“Hi Tommy.” 

His eyes, which were once so full of joy, are now desperately sad. Guilty, almost. And there’s a hesitance that’s never been there before, not when it’s come to the two of them. 

It was supposed to be them against the world.

But it was more like the world was against them.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, turning his body ever so slightly towards Newt.

“Came to watch the fireworks,” Newt says with a timid half smile, before adding, “and I thought you’d be here.”

Thomas bites his lip, hardly daring to believe that any of this is real; that his fragile little heart might have back the one thing it’s ever wanted. Maybe they can fight back against the world. Maybe that’s the only way to win.

“Are you back?” he whispers, struggling to hold back the tears.

What he really means is: ‘Are you here to stay? Or will you be leaving me again?’ but Newt understands what he means, even when the words are left unspoken. His hand finds Thomas’s, and he entwines their fingers cautiously, giving Thomas time to back away. When he doesn’t, Newt looks back up to meet his gaze, smiles, and seals their fate.

“I’m back.” he says, a promise with so much power.

When Thomas finally lunges into his warm embrace, all the broken pieces of his heart slowly begin to find their way home again. Newt is the glue that holds him together, and Thomas never wants to let go. Fireworks explode around them, seeing in the new year in a way he would never have imagined; in a way they both need more than anything.

But, among the utter relief coursing through his veins, there’s one thought buzzing around at the back of his mind, one he’s longing to ask over anything else: “Why?”

He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t have to.

“It turns out the world isn’t all that exciting without you by my side.”

Everything regains its colour the moment he opens his eyes. It’s vivid, the way all the colour stems from Newt and spreads outwards, basking the world in a beautiful glow and replacing the dull nothingness that once was.

Newt is his North Star; his guiding light. How was he ever going to cope in the darkness without him?

“Tommy, I’m so _sorry,_ ” Newt whispers, and suddenly everything feels real. 

The months spent alone, barely functioning, telling himself that he can’t reply to his love because he can’t be the one to hold him back. All the tears, the heartbreak, the thinking he’d be spending the rest of eternity alone, helplessly in love with someone who chose the world over him. 

All of that happened. All of that was tangible. All because he was so blinded with love that he couldn’t see how much it would tear them both apart.

“I’m sorry too,” he says, an understatement, with tears threatening to spill. “I loved you too much to stop you leaving, and I loved you too much to tell you how much it hurt. But now,” he shakes his head with a smile. “I think I love you too much to ever let you go again.”

When a single tear rolls down Newt’s cheek, he wipes it away with his thumb. This has always been them: picking up each other’s broken pieces, despite the world. 

Newt leans forward and gently rests their foreheads together, his sigh warm against Thomas’s lips. “Never be sorry for loving me back,” he says. “Eternity would be a long time without you.”

“Just as well we’ll be doing it together, then.”

_Always and forever and for all eternity._

How could they possibly do it any other way?

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> go on, yell at me in the comments.  
> or here on [twitter](https://twitter.com/newtswonderland) if you prefer.
> 
> see you in the next one x


End file.
